legionworld | open log

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open log

Who| Megatron and YOU
What| exploring, being needlessly Extra, making a scene in the walmart with drift
Where| All over Legion World
When| Post the most recent plots.
Warnings/Notes| an overly dramatic reunion, shooting sim robots with big hologram guns

a. biome

Cybertronian wilderness wasn't a particularly comfortable-looking place on its own. Metallic dust coats the hills pulverized by the radiation of a star that normally had little protective atmosphere to get in its way. It was cold and devoid of anything resembling life on Earth. It was home.

What looked like a battlefield coating its surface looked perfectly in line with the rest of the desolate looking place. Dull remnants of once grand buildings and the skeletons of a crashed ships streaked through it. The remains of Kaon just as he remembered it. It had been millenia since their planet had become uninhabitable and their species forced to become space-faring nomads. One would think that perhaps he might opt for a version of their world a little less obliterated by total war, but he preferred this reminder instead.

He even included the makeshift throne crafted from Sentinel Prime himself - half furniture, half Sentinel arranged in a decorative fashion. And it was here Megatron sat, eyes smoldering and with energon cube in hand. He takes a long drink in silence.

b. sim room

After having arrived gunless to an alien world - worse, one full of organic creatures - it doesn't take long for Megatron to fulfill his due diligence and survey some of the weaponry currently available. For posterity, of course. The sim environment is a blank room, with not even a single target in sight. Yet.

What lie at his feet are seven guns, each to scale for a heavily built thirty-five foot space robot. Excessive? Maybe. But totally necessary in Megatron's opinion.

Two were of Cybertronian design: one being his currently missing arm cannon, the other a sniper rifle easily as long as he is tall. To the far right was a simple pistol, rather paltry compared to the other two, but necessary. All solid light holograms generated from the rather specific memories of a person who had intimately used them for millions of years, down to some of the nicks in the metal.

The other four were local models he had found in the database. Two energy-based, two solid projectile. Weapons that had, for whatever reason, been built to a similar scale. There had been more, but he narrowed it down to these four. The closest approximations to the Cybertronian weapons that he could find while perusing archives.

Kneeling down, he could be found examining one of the solid-light guns, disassembling and reassembling it. Reloading it. Examining all the functions and mechanisms and familiarizing himself with the alien tech, occasionally suspicious of the fidelity of the solid light projection. You know. Priorities.

c. cruiser docks

Sometimes, a guy needs the peace and quiet provided by the empty, inhospitable void of space. Flight wasn't something that usually came naturally, but Shockwave and Soundwave had truly done rather marvelous jobs in building him a new body. His vehicle mode handled like a dream.

Eventually, after familiarizing himself with some of the outside of the moon-sized station, he returns, not particularly looking for a proper docking space so much as an area of the bay that had enough room for him to shift back to root mode. He enters the cluster of cruisers as a black, triangular sliver of a space-worthy bomber, purple plumes spewing out of the exhausts.

The black sliver slows over an empty area, splits down the middle and transforms, going from sleek aircraft to grouchy looking Megatron as the engines cut and he lands on his feet.

for drift: shopping area

On a flight within the larger open areas of Legion World, Megatron spots a familiar white speck on the ground. The only other Cybertronian on this forsaken world, and he had finally found him. Never one to shy away from making a grand entrance, he transforms mid-air, allowing himself to fall towards the open-air courtyard of unassuming shops.

He slows his descent with the jets in his feet, but only just enough to allow for a thud to reverberate in the ground and shake some leaves off the trees planted at the center of various arranged benches. He stands over a futuristic water fountain in front of the exit to the courtyard, paying no mind to the Legion staffers who happened to be attempting to go about their business without giant robots getting in the way.

"It looks like our paths have crossed again, Deadlock."

d. wildcard
ooc: Feel free to poke me for plots at

hematite

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The presence of another Cybertronian is unmistakable, and this particular presence is one Drift instinctively recognizes. He knows even before he turns around, even before he hears a name long dead, that it’s Megatron. Megatron is here.

Deadlock. From anyone else, it might not have gotten a reaction, but in Megatron’s voice, hauntingly familiar — Drift flinches even as he rises to his feet on a sharp turn. He’d come to the courtyard to sit in peace, a change of scenery from the comforting familiarity of his biome. Being around people, even organics, is still wonderfully refreshing — this place is so full of life — and he’d fallen into a pleasant state of almost-tranquility. He could practically feel his aura growing lighter along with his spirit. Until now.

“Megatron.”

Not Lord Megatron. It’s been a long time since Drift bent his knee to the Decepticon. His usual cheerful energy is muted, almost gone entirely, his optics flat and his expression guarded. The first Cybertronian Drift’s seen since his exile, and it’s Megatron. Why does it have to be Megatron? Drift tenses slightly, but his hands stay at his sides. They’re in a room full of organics — he’s not going to jeopardize their safety if he can help it.

“My name,” he says, optics narrowing slightly, “is Drift.”

A laugh bursts from Megatron at Drift’s response. It’s been a while now since he had turned. Since Turmoil had lost one of his preferred Decepticon warriors to the Circle of Light and eventually to the Autobots themselves.

But the war had always kept them apart since then. Drift had been spared the fate that most Decepticon traitors suffered: a timely visit from the DJD. That had been by design, at least at first, when he had initially hoped to bring him back to where he belonged.

Now? Well, now things were a bit late for that.

“What’s wrong, Deadlock? Are you ashamed of your past? Afraid that your new friends will discover who you really are?”

He gestures noncomitally to the passers by before making a step forward.

“It has been far too long since we’ve fought together.”

Drift can think of few things that are more mortifying than a Decepticon warlord all but broadcasting to a room full of dozens, if not hundreds, of people that Drift has some kind of dark, secret past. He never meant to deceive anyone, but what's important is what he does now, isn't it? No one here knows about the Great War, or the Decepticons, or Deadlock -- do they really need to know? He's doing good now. The last thing he really needs is to lose the trust of the Legionnaires, not when he's only just starting to establish it.

He narrows his optics at Megatron, hands tensing into fists, but he doesn't reach for any of his swords. For the first time since his arrival, he's painfully aware of the scratched plating on his chest where his Autobot badge had been. Not his any longer. He doesn't rise to the bait this time, or at least he tries not to -- if he starts on the defensive about his past, it's only going to make him look worse in front of anyone who's paying attention. Which...yeah, people definitely are.

"Do you really want to do this here, Megatron?"

Megatron prowls forward despite the fact that Drift was the one armed here. As Drift knew all too well, he didn't need to have weapons in his hands to make another Cybertronian's day remarkably unpleasant.

He looks down at Drift, at the ex-Decepticon's tense hands, at the barely contained expression on his face, and most importantly, at the empty patch of armor where his badge used to be. A look of cruel understanding crosses his face.

"Ah, Deadlock," he says with mock sympathy. A huge hand reaches forward to rest on Drift's shoulder in a perfectly amicable fashion,"You're being far too bothered by what organics think of you, don't you agree?"

Drift knows that look. He’s seen it before, Megatron pulling strings, a show of power psychological as well as physical. That he can completely dominate a situation by presence alone. He rose to power on his own merits, after all.

But Drift is no longer under Megatron's thumb. In a flash he's deftly sidestepping Megatron's touch, knocking that broad hand aside with the flat of his wrist. A bold move against someone like Megatron, but Drift's expression is flat and closed-off.

"We're guests here," he says evenly, as though that argument would have any impact on Megatron. He's all too aware that there are plenty of people within earshot, that every time Megatron calls him Deadlock it's only going to raise more questions, more doubt. Drift feels his spark contract uncomfortably in his chest. "These organics are our allies. And I will not let any harm come to them -- by your hand or anyone else's."

Never mind that many of these organics could take care of themselves. There's your warning, Megatron. Step the fuck right off.

The clang of Drift's reaction reverberates in the air with a short, metallic ring. Bold indeed. But he is hardly dissuaded. If anything, Drift's impudence brings vivid interest to Megatron's eyes. An interest Drift may find rather familiar, long ago when Cybertron was still a living world. He closes the distance between them further, looming forward, daring Drift to follow up on his unsaid threat to escalate their little game.

"There are more prudent problems that take precedence over the existence of organics of this universe," he says calmly,"We will be working together again far sooner than you think."

"Though I am curious why you're so reluctant," a hand moves forward to gesture at the scratched armor,"when the Autobots have already chosen to toss you to the wayside."

Should Drift allow it, he will go so far as to brush it with newly forged coal-colored claws with a brief, metallic shriek.

Drift's hand lashes out and grips Megatron's wrist, the Decepticon's fingers just mere centimeters from his chest plate. Megatron has never been one to trifle with, and even now Drift would be lying if he said that Megatron didn't intimidate him -- Drift knows that he'd only last so long in a one-on-one fight. But the idea here is not to fight. It's to defuse the situation before it gets out of hand, because with Megatron, it almost always does.

His expression flickers at that look, but he presses his mouth into a thin line. This isn't the time for relentless positivity -- this is the time to stand his ground, to stay firm, to show Megatron that he has no power over him anymore. He can't rise to the bait, however unnervingly familiar that interest might be, however much Megatron's comment about the Autobots might sting. Megatron doesn't know the truth of it -- but then, it wouldn't be much better if he did.

"If you mean you're joining the fight against Chronoblivion," Drift says, managing to keep his voice calm, "then yes, that does make us allies. But our fight and the organics' is one of the same. If any of our worlds falls, so will the rest of them."

He's playing a dangerous game here, he knows, walking a fine line between confrontation and provocation, but he knows Megatron. Any show of weakness, any chink in the armor is an opening that he can and will exploit. He really wishes this conversation were more private. He's still reeling from Megatron's appearance, his mind churning in a hectic attempt to make sense of all this. He knows he had to have been brought here for a reason -- but then Megatron must be part of that reason, too. Drift just wishes he could figure out what. Drift leans in slightly, dropping his voice. "If you really mean to help save the multiverse -- if you're really here to defend instead of conquer for once -- then I'll work with you. But understand this, Megatron: I don't work for you. Not ever again."

He release his grip on Megatron's wrist and steps back.

Megatron's expression is deathly still as Drift wraps fingers around his wrist to keep his hand away. Megatron doesn't attempt to break his grip, but an enormous coil of energy remains at the other end of that hand. All the barely contained energy of a pit fighter right before the start of a match, ready in an instant to explode to action and overwhelm what was in front of him with sheer ferocity. The words Drift picked now were critical, straddling the line between keeping the distance between them and inviting that arm in his grasp to snap free and retaliate.

But Megatron doesn't make the first move. He watches, and listens, allowing Drift to make his point without interruption.

Unexpectedly, some of the tension seems to evaporate as Drift releases his hand and takes a few steps back. The Decepticon was many unpleasant things - proud, quick-tempered, and exceedingly violent - but he respected someone who stood firm far more than he did a coward that bent to him. It's part of the reason he had taken favor to Drift back when he was a Decepticon, and it looks like Drift still had personality trait in him.

"We will see about that."

He still stares down, smoldering red, but there is no immediate intent to escalate.

"I swore the oath, whatever legitimacy that grants to you," he knew that from a Decepticon it meant little,"Our war can conclude once the threat of the Chronoblivion is dealt with. There is no point in conquering a doomed universe."

Edited 2017-11-24 19:51 (UTC)

Drift relaxes by fractions when Megatron doesn't escalate the situation, silently relieved, but he stays on his guard. If Primus sent Drift here, then he must have sent Megatron, too -- to, what, give them both equal chances at redemption for their past sins? But you have to want to do good to deserve that redemption, and Drift is pretty sure that isn't on Megatron's bucket list right now. Drift keeps his expression flat and unyielding.

"You were once a mech of your word," he says. "You have a chance here to prove yourself on your own actions. We'll see if that still holds true."

His expression flickers again, but this time with some mix between mild surprise and puzzlement. Then he narrows his optics slightly. "The war is over, Megatron. You lost. Cybertron has been reborn, and what's left of our race is finally rebuilding what we destroyed in our struggle to control it. That's what you'll be saving: a world finally at peace."

He would never admit it, but there’s a part of him - the part that has been growing to loathe what he’s become - that is elated at the chance to prove to himself that we wasn’t just Cybertron’s homegrown monster. That this was more than just an exercise in cold pragmatism. It was a voice he wasn’t too entirely sure where it came from.

But he’s not going to get too carried away here. He was still Megatron, and Megatron was not the type to just accept what he is assuming is his supposed future.

“You know how I feel about dictating fate, Deadlock,” he says sternly,”The war continues in my time, and we will see what happens in that regard once we return. Phase seven awaits - one way or another.”

Convincing Megatron of a future he doesn't believe in is most likely an exercise in futility. Convincing Megatron that that future might be worth pursuing, though? Maybe that is why Megatron is here. To remind him what peace is really about.

"We will see," Drift repeats, still tense, still guarded as he watches Megatron. He's known Megatron a long time, but the Decepticon is far from predictable. He starts to turn away. "Oh, and if we're working together now? That's the last time you call me Deadlock."

What is with these giant robots and their complete lack of consideration for those around them? America's beginning to believe it's a racial trait.

A good part of her decision to let them talk it out before approaching them is to pick up any juicy tidbits. Information that she should know when dealing with the two of them. And, while the conversation's been enlightening, it's very obviously over. However, the other half of her decision is simply that she couldn't figure out how to approach these two without seeming ridiculous. Like an ant approaching a dinosaur. Or a gnat, if she decides to fly.

She takes the ground-based approach, pulling her helmet mic out to address the two of them so she doesn't have to bellow. "If you two are quite done..." The comparatively teeny Beeny waves a trio of... citations. Yeah. Two for noise pollution. One for reckless... backflipping? Oh. Yeah, she'd meant to get to Drift earlier, but had been distracted by other matters. "The three of us have some business to go over."

He was ready to continue pushing Drift's buttons - he got quite a bit of enjoyment from it - but it looked like there was an organic holding three pieces of paper trying to catch their attention. What were those? Pamphlets? He wasn't interested in whatever flyers they were handing out.

Quirking a robot eyebrow, Megatron looks back to Drift, who would obviously be the expert in differentiating all these fleshlings.

"Who is this?" he asks, as if there wasn't a third person he could just speak to directly.

Oh, for Primus's sake, this is the last thing Drift needs.

He doesn't recognize the human calling their attention, but he sure does recognize the citations, even from all the way up here. He heaves out a long, slow sigh through his vents and ignores Megatron's question entirely, lowering into a crouch to better address the human.

"You wouldn't happen to be a friend of Judge Dredd's, would you?"

"I am the Law," is her snappish reply to Megatron. For all outward appearances, it's as if she's totally unaware of how utterly ridiculous she looks. Inwardly, she really wishes she had a giant robot of her own to perch on here.

She turns halfway, keeping both of them in her field of vision in case of any shenanigans. Drift's ex here seemed to have an attitude problem, and it was a bad idea to drop your guard around a potential domestic. "Dredd showed up? Well, it's about... Oh." Her face screws up in distaste for a split second before reasserting itself into her former 'I am the authority here, do not squish me under your giant thumb' scowl. "You mean Rico."

No, no love lost between the two of them.

"We're acquainted. Did he offer you a citation for something earlier?"

Her response and deep frown gives this organic the Ultra Magnus about to recite the Tyrest Accord vibe. He’s seen the uniform before as well, on that unwanted visitor to his hab. The other one had a taste for the post apocalyptic city look. So those papers must be citations, then.

For all the vigor and near-violence he had been brimming with just earlier, Megatron is awfully quick to turn to obvious boredom. Drift can deal with talking to this one, because he has no intention of helping.

He stops looking at them, preferring a much more interesting activity: picking the dirt out of the joints of his fingers.

"We've met," Drift hedges vaguely, not wanting to lie but also not wanting to admit in front of Megatron of all people that he'd received a traffic citation in his first week. It's clear Megatron isn't even going to bother engaging with the organic, which is pretty rude, but at the same time, it's better than one of many likely alternatives given how little Megatron thinks of organics.

"I apologize for any disturbance. We didn't mean to cause any trouble." He doesn't look up at Megatron, but there is a very pointed forcefulness behind that we. "We were just leaving."

He's sure that isn't going to get them out of a citation, and he doesn't really want to go with Megatron anywhere, but he'd rather keep the Decepticon away from the organics if possible, if this should turn his mood. The Decepticon leader hasn't exactly been known for his even temper.

"Well, if he's already issued you a citation for your reckless driving earlier, then there's no need to double up. Had the same problem with Prowl when he was here, but if you two pick up on things half as fast as he did, that should be enough." She glances up at Megatron. Given that Big Boy there was a plane, she doesn't think she'll have as many problems there.

She's quiet for a moment, considering. "We can call this a warning this time. Though, if you two feel the need to argue in the future, keep it quieter. There are noise pollution laws." Ones that're generally just a slap on the wrist and a small fine, but whatever. America disengages her helmet speakers, tucks away the citations, and digs in her pouch for a small card, holding it out to Drift. "Sounds like your ex here could be a problem. If you need a place to stay, or just someone to talk to, these people can help. I've worked with them since coming here. I'd suggest sending a message to the Deputy Leader or Kid Quantum if things get that bad, though." Her voice is pitched lower, though she's not sure how well Megatron could hear her in any case.

Robot ears. Hmph.

"I assure you, it will be quite evidently clear if there is ever a problem."

Well, it looks like Megatron is done preening his joints.

Do Decepticons need to be vaguely threatening all the time? Apparently, the answer is yes. It comes with the territory of violent uprising turned galactic invaders. But hey, at least he isn't checked out entirely of the conversation. He probably paid attention to like half of what they said from the corner of his eye.

Drift's been homeless, an addict, a failed one-mech mutiny, nearly crushed to death, and exiled from the one place he ever thought he'd really get to call home, and somehow, this right here still ranks as one of the most embarrassing moments of his life. It doesn't quite register that America means she's worried about abuse until she hands him that card and Drift stares at it, wondering if it's possible to die of spark failure induced by extreme mortification.

"No, it's not like -- " he tries, holding the tiny card and feeling impossibly stupid and, weirdly, a little bit like he's just been offered the number for a crisis line by a concerned Ultra Magnus. And then Megatron opens his mouth and Drift looks over his shoulder with a flat look on his face.

"There won't be a problem," he says firmly, more to Megatron than America, his tone warning. Intimidation will only get him so far with Megatron -- Drift knows he doesn't pose as much of a physical threat -- but he's hoping it'll at least get Megatron out of the room. He starts to rise to his feet. "And there won't be any further disturbance. Thank you, uh..." She didn't really give a name, and Drift feels weird about calling someone the Law. He fixes a bright, friendly smile on his face, the first one since Megatron walked into the room. "Thank you. We'll be on our way now."

She gives Megatron her best Look. The kind that would have hardened gang members filling her pants. It probably comes off as somewhat less than impressive when she has to crane her neck so far up she's practically leaning backwards, though.

The language Drift uses could be taken as an offense. But at this point, the situation seems mostly resolved. Mostly. She'll have to add a notice suggesting the two not be left alone on a team together in her daily reports to Kid Quantum. "Judge Beeny," she supplies in response to his hesitation, then gives a curt little nod, not returning the smile. Instead, she just plants her fists on her hips like she's waiting for them to disperse. Preferably in opposite directions.

Drift's stern looks and forceful tone go completely unnoticed. Megatron is too busy raising a robot brow at America, coming to the steady realization that this human was trying to stare him down like he was a convicted felon. That was certainly a first for him, most organics in his experience were either dead, about to be blown up, or scuttling away and screaming.

Something about that was quite a hoot, because one corner of his mouth pulls back into a grin. Not a sneer - a grin of genuine appreciation for a fleshling at about shin-height trying to peel his paint off with her eyes. The only one that bothered to get in between the two arguing Cybertronians in the first place.

"Judge Beeny," he says with fascination,"I'll remember that."

Drift's attempt at taking control of this situation has apparently failed miserably -- although, really, what had he been expecting? Megatron has never bent to anyone's will. He watches Megatron's reaction, though his own expression doesn't change, and he nods his head toward America.

"Judge Beeny. Thank you."

He glances back at Megatron one more time, his expression flickering, and turns wordlessly to leave. He's not so sure he really wants to leave here with Megatron after all. He needs some time to just...clear his head.

Unfortunately for Drift, Megatron's heavy footfalls follow behind him. It looks like he won't be rid of the Decepticon just yet. Drift was here for a bit longer, after all. He'd be more familiar with his surroundings. The confrontation, oddly enough, had left the warlord in a bit of a jovial mood, as if he'd released some of his own coiled energy in riling Drift up.

Once they're in a less populated area, he leans forward to be a little closer to Drift's head, which was sitting at around elbow height.

"And where, exactly, do you plan on heading to? These organics," he says, waving a hand to irritatedly gesture to the space all around them,"are everywhere."

The last thing Drift wants after that embarrassingly public showdown is for Megatron to follow him, but he'd suggested it, hadn't he? He regrets that a little bit. He doesn't change his pace in the slightest when Megatron catches up to him, and he doesn't turn to look at the Decepticon, either. He'd consider transforming and driving away if he hadn't gotten those citations from Rico in his first week.

"Yes, funny how that happens on an organic world," he bites back, and immediately regrets that, too, because he's only sniping because Megatron managed to rattle him enough. "I'm going back to my biome. To meditate."

As in you are not invited, Megatron.

Edited 2017-11-28 05:06 (UTC)

all aboard the drama train

Toot toot

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